


Parallel Lines

by romanticalgirl



Series: Geometric Progression [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3509708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU of S4. It takes a long time for Mickey to find Ian. After that everything gets hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains situations that may be perceived as abusive. It also deals with mental illness and the side effects of it on people who suffer from it and the people involved with them.

Mickey doesn’t go to the north side of town too often. He stands out too much, feels too out of place. Of course, that’s half of the appeal, he knows. Going slumming to look on the south side is asking for a beat down. South side cock coming somewhere respectable has the same dangers, less risks.

He’d never started coming here at all if he hadn’t been looking for Ian. Lip had come to Mickey and asked for help. Mickey had trolled fucking Boystown, had dealt with rumors and assumptions and broken a few noses, but in the end he’d still managed to miss Ian. Finally someone had told Mickey about this place, a hole in the wall left over from the prohibition days. It’s filled with high-class fags looking for someone trashy to take them all the rough ways they think the south side has the monopoly on. Mickey’s been here on and off to know the north side is just as fucked up as the south. Maybe more.

He can’t complain about fucking them, about getting his dick sucked. Being gay on the south side means you don’t turn away a safe, free fuck. He _can_ complain about the fact that he keeps missing Ian, like they’re running in fucking parallel lines.

Mickey’s close to giving up and telling Lip to fuck himself. He’s tired of whoring himself out for the Gallaghers, tired of hoping. Walking away from this would be the best goddamned thing he’s done in ages. He could get back to his life, get back to running his business rather than looking for Ian, rather than giving a shit. 

But, because his life is completely fucked, that’s when Ian walks in. If it weren’t for his red hair, Mickey’s not sure he’d have recognized him. There’s no trace of the cocky, knowing grin on his face, no daring in his eyes. But it’s definitely Ian.

Mickey stands up, cutting off whatever kind of deal the too-rich fuck sitting next to him was trying to make and works his way through the crowd toward Ian. Ian’s talking to someone when Mickey comes up, so he doesn’t see him. Mickey leans in, hand on Ian’s shoulder, mouth next to Ian’s ear to be heard over the crowd. He starts, but doesn’t really react until Mickey speaks.

“Gallagher.”

Ian jerks away, his eyes wide and panicked. “You’ve got the wrong guy.” He shifts back in his seat, away from Mickey. “Sorry.”

Mickey grits his teeth, but he can’t help the way he looks Ian over. He’s not sure what he’s looking for or if he’s actually looking _for_ something. He’s just looking, drinking Ian in. “Yeah. My bad. Sorry.”

The guy with Ian looks from Ian to Mickey then back again before he clears his throat. “He’s taken.”

Mickey’s gaze moves from Ian, hardens. “The fuck you say?”

“Taken.” The guy’s voice trembles slightly, but his glance over Mickey is full of moral and economic superiority. “Bought and paid for.”

Mickey moves before he’s actually aware he’s doing it. He lifts the guy up by his throat. “You calling him a whore?”

“Mickey.” Ian lays a hand on Mickey’s arm. “Let him go.”

Mickey’s fingers tighten. “He just called you a fucking whore. I’m not letting him the fuck go.”

“Mickey.” Ian’s voice is firm, his eyes like lasers when Mickey looks over at him. “Let him go.”

“Fine.” Mickey releases his grip, turning to Ian as the asshole gasps for breath, watching them like Ian and Mickey are a fucking cable show. Mickey cuts his eyes to him and snarls. “Fuck off.”

“I told you...”

Mickey takes a menacing step forward. “And I told you to fuck off. Who the fuck do you think has the upper fucking hand here?”

“It’s okay, Tom.” Ian smiles and touches the guy on the shoulder. “Just give me a minute?”

The smile doesn’t reach Ian’s eyes, and Mickey can’t help wondering if anything does right now. Tom looks at Mickey before shrugging. “I’ll be at the bar.”

Ian nods, watching him walk away before he sinks back down in his seat. Mickey stands for a moment longer before shaking his head and sitting down. “You want to tell me what the _fuck_ is going on here?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Getting my rocks off. What the fuck do you think I’m doing?”

“You’re in the right place for it. Though you’d probably have to give rather than receive.”

“I’m looking for you, asshole. Come home.”

Ian shakes his head. “No. I’m doing okay here. My own place. I send money to Fiona. There isn’t anything for me at home.”

“Your family.”

“They’re better off with one less mouth to feed.”

“Bullshit. They miss you. They’re worried about you. Shit’s happened.”

“Shit always happens.” Ian finally meets Mickey’s gaze. “Me being at home wouldn’t change that.”

“They miss you.”

“I’ll call.”

“Fuck.” Mickey kicks the leg of the table. “I miss you, you stupid fuck.”

“Don’t.” Ian says it like Mickey has some choice in the matter. “You’ve got your wife and your kid on the way. You’re practically a nuclear family.”

“My wife blows guys for a fucking living and I don’t even know if the kid is mine. Come _home_ , Ian.”

“ _Go_ home, Mickey.” Ian smiles wryly. “Unless you’re here to make some money too.”

Mickey’s rigid with tension as he shakes his head. “What am I supposed to tell your family?”

“Tell them you didn’t find me. Tell them I told you to fuck off. Don’t tell them anything.” Ian shrugs and stands up. “Tom’s waiting for me.”

“I’m guessing talking to me means you don’t charge by the hour.”

Ian nods. “You guess right.”

**

Mickey waits outside smoking cigarette after cigarette. He doesn’t understand why Ian and that jackass are still in the club, though his imagination throws up a few scenarios, each one making Mickey angrier than the last. He’s nearly out of smokes when they finally come out, and he realizes he doesn’t have a plan. He could beat the shit out of Tom, but that would either piss Ian off or give him time to bail. But if Tom has a car or they take a cab, Mickey’s right back where he started, or worse if Ian bolts now that he knows Mickey knows where he is.

He lucks out because they start walking down the street, weaving their way to a cheap motel. It’s clear Tom can afford better, and Mickey knows Ian deserves better. But then, the less the cheap-ass spends on the room, the more he likely spends on Ian. Christ. Mickey needs to stop thinking like a pimp.

He waits at the bus stop across the street, watching the entrance to the motel like a hawk. He cracks his knuckles at anyone who ventures too close, making sure the tattooed letters are clearly visible. 

Ian comes out several hours later, when Mickey’s ass is numb and he’s wishing he’d worn a decent coat. Ian starts walking in the opposite direction of the club. Mickey stays across the street and back as he follows him, out of Ian’s peripheral vision. They keep walking until they start hitting the more familiar part of town. They’re still a long way from home, but at least Mickey feels like he can breathe here.

Ian ducks into a building and Mickey jogs across the street, following him up seven flights of stairs. Ian’s waiting at the top when Mickey rounds the last corner, arms folded across his chest.

Mickey stops and takes a breath. “Ian. Hey.”

“Go home, Mickey.”

“Look, just let me see where you live so I can at least tell your sister something, all right? Tell her you’re all right. Safe. That you’re smart enough to have a dead bolt, even if you can’t tell someone’s tailing you across town.”

Ian glares at him for a long time then sighs. “Fine.” He turns on his heel and heads down the hall. Mickey follows him and the papery smell of cheap hotel soap. Ian stops at the last door on the right and unlocks it using two separate keys. “There. Happy?”

“You tell me. I see anything that’s going to satisfy Fiona?”

Ian mutters something under his breath and shoves the door open. It sticks for a moment then gives way. Ian walks in, brushing by Mickey like he’s not even there.

Mickey follows him inside and shuts the door, checking it out before he surveys the room. The locks are decent, but no one’s going to need to worry about them, since it’d be easier to take out the cheap-ass door. He snaps the lock and deadbolt into place anyway, then turns around. Ian hasn’t turned on a light because the streetlamp outside is bright enough to illuminate the entire room.

There’s a set of shelves made of concrete blocks and boards with a hot plate and coffee maker on top of it, mismatched plates and cups underneath them on the second shelf. There’s a mattress on the floor and a blow-up chair by the window. The sill has a cup of pens and three notebooks on it, and Ian’s clothes are folded neatly on the floor against three stacks of empty milk crates that mostly blocks the view of the toilet from the window.

The sink is cracked and the toilet is an avocado green that Mickey’s seen in pictures from the seventies. There’s a stained bathtub with a pitcher hanging over the spout that Mickey assumes serves as a shower. His eyebrows lift higher and higher as the looks the place over. “You know this place makes _my_ house look like Buckingham fucking Palace, right?”

“It’s cheap.”

“So is living the fuck at home.” Mickey shakes his head. “What are you trying to prove?”

“Nothing.” Ian shrugs and leans against the wall by the window, casting a shadow that reaches out toward Mickey, keeping his face hidden. “Went AWOL. Needed a place to go.”

“AWOL.” 

It’s not a question but Ian nods. “Joined the Army, remember?”

“Yeah, like I’m going to forget about you running away to get your damn head blown off.”

“Used Lip’s name and social, so I couldn’t go home.”

“Christ, you make Iggy seem like a fucking genius.” Mickey rubs his forehead. “Just come home.”

“No.”

“Jesus...”

“No.” Ian’s voice hardens. “I like it here. I like my life.”

“You sleep with dudes for money!”

“You’re married to someone who does it.” Ian raises an eyebrow, waiting for an argument. “What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that I don’t want other people putting their dicks in you.”

“I usually do that part.”

“Goddamn it, Ian!” Mickey crowds closer, stopping just short of touching Ian, of pinning him to the wall. “Come home.”

Ian’s eyes drop to Mickey’s mouth and Mickey can feel his heart rate speed up. “I am home.”

Mickey swallows hard and shakes his head. He doesn’t recognize his voice. “Come home with me.”

“You’re married.”

“So? So was fucking Kash and the old dude. Didn’t fucking stop you from boning them.”

“Well, maybe I was in love with them.”

Mickey takes a step back, unable to breathe. His vision goes blurry and he swallows hard before backing toward the door. “I’ll...” He swallows again and nods jerkily. “I’ll tell ‘em you’re fine. Shacked up with some nice dude. Working.”

“Mickey...”

“Taking, um, classes. Fiona’ll like that. Yeah.” He stays out of Ian’s reach. He can’t stop nodding and can’t actually look at Ian. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

“Mick.”

Mickey turns when he feels the door against his back. His fingers tremble as he undoes the locks and hears Ian move, feels him behind him. Mickey shifts and swings the door open between them. “See...” He has to swallow again, his throat dry. “See ya, Gallagher.”

**

He doesn’t go home. He can’t. He can’t face the thought of any of his family. He walks for hours, shoulders hunched against the wind. There are goosebumps covering his bare arms, but he doesn’t actually feel the cold. No one bothers him even though he knows in the back of his mind that he’s the perfect target right now. Distracted. Lost in his own head.

Everything he’s felt since Ian left – loss, hurt, betrayal, anger, desperation – is a pit in his stomach, a weight dragging him down. The sun’s coming up by the time he hits Canaryville, and he’s not actually sure how he got there. Muscle memory. Or maybe he just knows where he belongs. He climbs the back stairs to the Gallagher house and stops just outside the door.

He hasn’t managed a decent breath all night, and he still can’t seem to drag in enough air. He grits his teeth and tries for a smile, giving it up and not even bothering as he lets himself inside. The kitchen is chaos and noise, insults and laughter. It stops when Fiona catches sight of him. 

“Jesus, Mickey. You’re shaking.”

The heat hurts against his cold skin and it’s like an electric shock when Debbie grabs his arm and leads him into the living room. Fiona gets a blanket from the back of the couch and wraps it around him as Debbie pulls him down next to her.

“What the fuck happened? Carl, get him some coffee!” Fiona moves around to sit in the chair diagonally across from him. “Are you all right?”

He nods, but then he can’t stop, like it’s a new reaction to the shift in temperature, like he’s one of those stupid fucking dogs in the back window of a car. “Yeah. Yeah. Fine. Yeah.”

Debbie scoffs. “You don’t look fine.”

Carl comes in with a cup of coffee and hands it to Mickey then sits on the table right in front of him. “Dude, did you get shot?”

“Carl!”

“What? He’s been shot twice. Not like it’s a bizarre question!”

“Not shot.” Mickey holds the mug with both hands, but doesn’t try to take a sip. The last thing he needs is a lap full of steaming coffee. “I’m fine. I was walking and lost track of time.” He stares down into the black liquid. “I found Ian.”

He can’t actually make out any words in the resulting din. All three of them crowd closer, Fiona moving to the table next to Carl. 

“Where is he?”

“Is he coming home?”

“Did _he_ get shot?”

“Is he all right?”

“Where has he been?”

“Why didn’t he come home with you?”

Mickey clears his throat and sets the coffee down untouched. “He’s okay. He’s good.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Fiona asks.

“He’s got a job. Taking classes.” Mickey looks at his hands, flexes his fingers. It’s kind of ironic that Ian fucked Mickey up, not the other way around. “He’s with someone. A guy. Obviously. Seems nice. Seems happy.” He forces the smile this time and it feels like swallowing glass. “He’s happy.”

“When’s he coming home?”

Mickey chews his bottom lip for a moment then shrugs. “I don’t know. I told him you guys were worried, that he should come home or at least call. I’m sure he’ll call.”

Debbie’s about to say something else when Fiona claps her hands. “School. Both of you. Lunches on the counter. Go.” She glares at both of them. “No arguing. Come on.”

She follows them into the kitchen and then to the door. Mickey doesn’t move, not sure his legs will work. He doesn’t even realize Fiona’s sat next to him until she touches his thigh. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just cold.” He pushes the blanket off and stands up through sheer force of will. Can’t keep a Milkovich down for long. “Tell Lip, okay?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Good. Tell him we’re square.”

Fiona looks up at him, obviously worried, but she nods. “I will.”

“Good. Yeah. Okay. I gotta go.” He moves away from her. His eyes glance across a picture of Ian. His throat closes and he coughs. “Bye.”

Fiona’s frowning as he bolts to the door, and he slams it shut on her goodbye. He doesn’t make it home before he gags and throws up, but at least he makes it out of sight.

**

Between his brothers and Mandy, Kenyatta and the horde of whores, the house is never quiet. It’s actually nice for once, because he’s been alone too much in the past couple of weeks since seeing Ian, and the last thing he wants to be able to do is hear his thoughts.

“What is your matter?”

“What?” Mickey looks up from his beer at Svetlana.

“You mope.”

“Just thinking.”

“Need brain for that.”

“You’re lucky you don’t need one to suck jizz for a living or you’d be out on the streets.” He slams the bottle on the table and grabs his hoodie off the back of the couch on his way out the door. He starts walking with no destination in mind, or so he tries to believe. But when he hits the Alibi and keeps walking, he knows exactly where he’s going.

It’s too early for the bar to be open, and there’s no way he’s hanging around outside like he’s looking to be picked up to blow some guy in his car. He shoves his hands in his pockets and walks a few blocks down to a coffee shop. Everything on the menu has some stupid cutesy name and costs almost as much as the fucking mortgage on his house. “Do you just have coffee? Like real coffee.”

“You mean drip?”

The girl says it like he’s asked if she’s got a kid he can defile. Mickey shrugs. “I guess. You know. Water, grounds, heat, a pot? Fucking coffee?”

“Two bucks.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” She keeps staring at him and the line of people behind him is starting to grumble, so he digs a couple of wadded up singles out of his pants pocket. “Here.”

“Right over there.” She slams a cup on the counter and gestures to three urns off in the corner. “Sir.”

Mickey’s used to being looked down on, used to sneers. He blows out a slow breath and takes the cup. All three of the urns have name tags with shit like Sumatran Party Roast and Pansy-Ass Delight, so Mickey just picks the least gay sounding one. It smells like coffee at least.

He picks a table with a view of the street and stares out the plate glass window without actually seeing anything. He shreds one of the eco-friendly napkins into tiny pieces, then rolls them into small balls that he pushes together in the center of the table. He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. Even when the bar opens, he probably won’t see Ian, and Mickey’s got no desire to fuck anyone. And no one’s fucked him since the last time with Ian.

Mickey rubs his forehead where his dad pistol-whipped him, feels the telltale indent in his skin. He’s been shot twice and pistol-whipped for Ian and he’s still here. Shit, he is so fucked. Someone kicks his foot and Mickey looks up, ready to start something. 

It’s Ian standing there with his hands in his coat pockets. “Free refills on drip coffee.”

“For two bucks I should get one of those damn things on my table.”

“It’d be annoying when all the other customers came over for refills.”

“Like anyone else in here has ordered something that doesn’t end in -acchino. They probably dump most of the actual coffee out at night.”

Ian grins. “What are you doing here? Pretty sure they have coffee on the south side.”

“Yeah, but the insults and sneers aren’t as pointed.” Mickey takes another sip from his cup. “Don’t worry. I’m not staying. Just having one for the road.”

“I called Fiona.”

“Good. I’m sure she was relieved.” He looks away from Ian and down at the pile of paper balls. “I didn’t know you came here.”

“Work here, actually. A couple days a week. And at a supermarket closer to my place.”

“Surprised you have the time.”

Ian sighs. “Can I sit down?”

“Can’t really stop you.” Mickey holds his cup with both hands, focusing on reading the shit about the rainforest that’s printed on it. 

Ian settles across from him, his long legs stretched out, brushing against Mickey’s. Mickey moves his legs back, hooking his ankles around the legs of the chair. “About the other night.”

“Nothing to say about it. I saw enough to lie to your family. I’m just waiting around for a couple of guys to settle their debts, then I’m out of here. Out of your hair.” Ian’s hair is longer than he’d worn it before he left, but it’s not the shaggy shock of red he used to have. Mickey remembers the feel of it and his hands itch. 

“I wanted to apologize.”

“For what? We never lied to each other, Gallagher. We were what we were and now we’re not anything. Just keep in touch with your family, okay? I’ve got better shit to do than track down your ass.”

Ian nods and Mickey wants to punch him almost as much as he wants to kiss him.

“And wear a goddamned rubber when you fuck.”

Ian laughs at that and Mickey’s fingers dent his cup at the sound. “Never did with you.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because we were fucking idiots. Who knows what kinds of fancy diseases these rich fucks have.”

Ian’s quiet for a minute and then he kicks Mickey’s leg. “I’m done for the day. You want to get something to eat?”

“It’s not going to be something fucking fruity like a scone or croissant, is it?”

“I was thinking burger, fries and shakes.”

Mickey should say no. Cut his losses. He wasn’t anything more than a release for Ian, and sticking around is just going to blow up in his face because, whether he wants to admit it or not, Ian means a hell of a lot more than that to him. “You buying?”

“Yeah. My treat.”

Mickey rubs the end of his nose with the back of his hand and sniffs. “Okay.”

Ian’s grinning and Mickey’s irrationally pleased he put the smile on Ian’s face. Ian sweeps the destroyed napkin into the palm of his hand and walks it to the trash can by the door. Mickey follows, tossing his cup as well. “Shit, was I supposed to recycle that or compost it or some shit?”

“Only if you want to save the planet.”

“The whole thing?”

Ian laughs again and ducks into an alley. Mickey’s cock jerks and all he can think about is Ian shoving him against a wall and fucking him. Instead Ian keeps walking until they get to the opposite mouth of the alley, then heads to the left. Mickey follows, adjusting his cock and his stupid expectations. Ian’s a few doorways down, already holding one open. Mickey looks around and hopes like hell Ian isn’t dragging him some place where he’s going to end up with a veggie burger and fucking bean sprouts.

He ducks inside and some of the patrons actually look like real people, so Mickey lets Ian lead the way to a back table. A waitress comes over and Ian tells her he wants two of his regular. She sets glasses of water in front of them, and Mickey desperately wants a beer.

“So, how’s married life?” Ian asks

“Fuck if I know.”

“You are married.”

“Fine. How do you think it fucking is? My wife is pregnant with a kid neither of us want. She fucks guys for a living, and I’m apparently a pimp to the Russian contingent.”

“Wow, your first anniversary’s going to be hard to top.”

“Yeah, yeah. How’s your boyfriend?”

“Which one?”

“Which...” Mickey huffs out a breath and stares at the wall over Ian’s shoulder. “Why do you work two jobs if you’ve got that money rolling in?”

“I get bored.”

“You could go back to school.”

“Yeah, not that bored.”

“Fiona’d like it.”

“I’m tired of living my life for what other people like. It’s my life. I should do what I like, right?”

“And you like sleeping with dudes for money.”

“Beats doing it for free.”

The food comes then, and Mickey’s grateful. His burger is big and smells delicious, melting cheese clinging to crispy bacon. Unfortunately Mickey’s stomach is a giant knot. “I guess you fucked Kash on the clock, and doctor grandpa bought you shit. Been getting paid the whole time.”

“Almost.”

“Right. Well, I appreciate the pro bono fucks.” Mickey pushes his plate away. “I’m going to go get my money and go back to where I belong.”

He puts his hands on the table to brace himself so he can stand up. Ian wraps his fingers around Mickey’s wrist, and Mickey swallows hard. 

“Let go.”

“Don’t leave. Stay. Eat.” Ian squeezes lightly and Mickey’s pulse jumps in response. “Please.”

Mickey makes the mistake of looking at Ian and sinks back down into his seat. Ian keeps his grip until Mickey’s settled and then lets him go.

“The food’s good. I promise.” He snags a fry off Mickey’s plate. “Eat. Okay?”

Mickey nods and picks up the burger. It’s not hard to focus on that. It is good, and it’s messy. Ian keeps watching him and stealing Mickey’s fries, even though he’s still got some on his own plate. He gets a stupid grin on his face each time, like he’s sneaking something past Mickey. Finally Mickey’s hand shoots out and he grabs Ian’s wrist, pulling his hand closer and taking a bite of the fry. His lips brush Ian’s fingers and Mickey licks away salt and grease as he leans back.

Ian’s eyes are wide, pupils blown. He brings his hand back, watching Mickey as he sucks each finger clean. The air in the restaurant is heavy, and Mickey can see the hitch in Ian’s breath. “You can get your money later, right?”

Mickey bites his lower lip and nods. “Yeah.”

“Let’s go.” Ian throws some money on the table and speeds outside, jogging toward the El station. Mickey follows, leaping the turnstile after Ian. It’s lunchtime and the train is crowded, so Ian presses close behind Mickey, letting the sway and jolt of the train bring their bodies together. Mickey’s hand is clenched in a fist at his side, and he digs his thumbnail into his thigh through his jeans. All he wants to do is turn and sink to his knees, suck Ian down.

Ian’s breath fans against the back of Mickey’s neck as the train jerks to a stop. Mickey barely suppresses the shiver that runs through him. Ian’s hand settles on his side. “Sorry.”

Mickey nods jerkily. “It’s cool.”

Ian pulls his hand back, careful not to touch him again. Mickey’s convinced that’s worse, knowing Ian’s there, just out of reach. Ian taps Mickey’s shoulder and nods toward the doors as they reach his stop. Mickey follows like a goddamned pussy-whipped idiot that he is. Dick-whipped. Ian-whipped.

The seven flights up seem a hell of a lot longer than they had the other night, even though this time he actually gets to watch Ian’s ass. Finally they’re in the hallway and Ian’s unlocking the door, letting them inside. Mickey’s already breathing hard, watching Ian closely. Ian groans and grabs Mickey’s shirt, hauling him into a hard kiss. It’s painful – lips and teeth and tongue – and it matches the mad frenzy of them stripping off their clothes. Mickey doesn’t bother with his shirt or jacket, just undoes his fly and shoves his pants and boxers down.

Ian breaks the kiss to drag his own shirt off, groaning when Mickey’s hands move to his fly. Mickey goes down on his knees as he pushes Ian’s jeans down, burying his face against the base of Ian’s dick, inhaling the scent of him before Ian’s fingers dig into Mickey’s hair and pull his head back. 

Mickey looks up as he licks the head of Ian’s cock, keeping eye contact as he opens his mouth, grabbing Ian’s hips and guiding him forward. Ian lets out a half-gasp, half-groan as Mickey closes his mouth around him tight, sucking hard as his tongue strokes the underside of Ian’s dick.

Ian’s hand fists in Mickey’s hair. He pulls hard to hold Mickey still, to make him take Ian when he thrusts his hips forward. Ian strokes his fingers through Mickey’s hair, then tugs, Mickey sucking hard with every stroke. It doesn’t take long before Mickey can’t move at all, just coat Ian’s dick with spit as Ian fucks Mickey’s mouth. Spit leaks down Mickey’s chin and he closes his eyes so he can just feel Ian fuck him, use him, own him.

Ian’s hand slides back to cup the back of Mickey’s head, which is Mickey’s only warning before Ian fucks his orgasm against the back of Mickey’s throat. Mickey swallows him down, closing tighter around Ian’s dick until Ian shoves him back.

Mickey stays on his knees, breathing through his mouth. His lips are wet and swollen and he wipes spit and a few drops of Ian’s come from his chin. His own cock is hard against his stomach, rigid and red and leaking. Ian’s eyes are locked on it as he sinks onto the mattress. “C’mere.”

Mickey’s pants are tangled around his ankles, and he’s not sure he can stand anyway, so he shuffles forward on his knees, moving between Ian’s spread legs.

“Fuck,” Ian groans roughly. “Look so hot on your fucking knees for me.”

Mickey hisses as Ian’s fingers brush against his cock. He grits his teeth and gives up any pretense of control. “Please.”

Ian wraps a hand around Mickey, jerking him hard and fast. His long fingers envelop Mickey, covering almost the entire length of Mickey’s dick in his grasp. Mickey’s thigh muscles tighten as he thrusts into Ian’s hand and he tries to swallow the sounds he’s making. That seems to inspire something in Ian, and he snakes his free hand down to cup and squeeze Mickey’s balls like he’s trying to wring the noises out of him.

Mickey sways forward, resting his head on Ian’s shoulder, doing a shit job of holding back breath after gasping breath. Ian presses a soft kiss to the hollow beneath Mickey’s ear, whispering Mickey’s name against his skin. Mickey’s balls contract and he comes, spilling on Ian’s hand and stomach.

Ian releases him and rubs his hand up and down Mickey’s spine, constant warm pressure coaxing Mickey through his stuttering breaths. Mickey closes his eyes tight and lifts his head, wet lips sliding across Ian’s skin. Ian shivers and turns his head, mouth finding Mickey’s easily.

This kiss is different as Ian lays back on the mattress, pulling Mickey down on top of him. Mickey manages to kick his pants off the rest of the way, scooting higher up Ian’s body. Ian tangles his hand in Mickey’s hair again and Mickey curves his palm against the short hairs at the nape of Ian’s neck. Their tongues are slow and lazy, stroking against one another now that the desperation has burned off slightly. They finally break apart to breathe and Mickey puts his head on Ian’s shoulder, forehead against Ian’s neck.

Mickey shivers as Ian’s fingers glide up and down his spine, and he presses closer. Words clog Mickey’s throat and his lungs feel like they take up too much room in his chest. He doesn’t want to say anything, doesn’t want to break whatever tenuous spell made this happen. He almost does speak when Ian eases out from under him, but then Ian straddles him, kissing the back of his neck, the top of his spine. Mickey buries a groan in the sheets as the tip of Ian’s dick drags across Mickey’s ass.

Ian kisses the middle of Mickey’s back, cock rubbing at the crack of Mickey’s ass as Ian stretches over him, digging in a bag beside the bed. Mickey closes his eyes when he sees the lube, and shifts under Ian, arching up. Ian pulls back and his fingers trace over the slight pucker of scars from the shotgun wound. Mickey shudders at the way Ian touches him, the way he feels when Ian touches him. 

Ian’s still touching him when Mickey hears the cap of the lube snap, so he braces himself for the cold trickle as it slides down the crack of his ass. Ian’s fingers move off the bullet wound to the lube, rubbing through it. Mickey thrusts back, wanting to spread himself open, unable to with Ian straddling his legs at the knees. 

One of Ian’s fingers brushes Mickey’s hole, painting the rim of it. Mickey wants the prep and the build up, but he also wants Ian filling him up. Ian finally moves to kneel between Mickey’s legs, and pours more lube on his fingers, rubbing two against the tight muscle of Mickey’s ass. Mickey spreads himself wider to give Ian more room, making a sound low in his throat. It catches there as Ian pushes one finger in. 

Mickey concentrates on breathing. He has to focus on each breath, willing his body to relax. Ian barely moves his finger and Mickey clenches around him. “Just...just do it.”

Ian murmurs something underneath his breath as he pushes his finger deeper. Every muscle in Mickey’s body reacts and his hands fist in the sheets. He pants Ian’s name and Ian pushes deeper, the knuckles of his other fingers pressed against Mickey’s perineum. Mickey curves his back, thrusting his ass up higher. He gets his knees under himself, keeping them spread.

Ian growls and starts thrusting, working a second finger in. He scissors his fingers again and again, spreading Mickey open. Mickey can feel the need in the base of his cock, and he wants Ian inside him. He can’t get a word out, but Ian must read his mind because he pushes a third finger in. It’s the fullest Mickey’s been in months, but it’s not enough. Not even close. His voice breaks on Ian’s name and then Ian’s against him, inside him.

“Oh, fuck. Yes, Mick.” Ian groans and his hips move. His knees are against Mickey’s, his hands on Mickey’s hips, and his cock buried deep. He doesn’t wait for Mickey to adjust to him, just starts moving, pulling back until just the head of his dick is inside Mickey, then slamming forward. It’s hard and fast and perfect, and Mickey thrusts back every time Ian pushes in.

His head’s to the side, so he can see Ian out of the corner of his eye, flushed and sweaty. Fucking beautiful. Mickey rests his weight on the arm beneath his chest and reaches down, closing his other hand around his dick. He barely needs to move his hand as the force of Ian’s thrusts drive him into his fist. He doesn’t push for his orgasm, content to ride the edge of it until he knows Ian is close.

Mickey flexes his muscles, tightening around Ian as he moves his hand with more purpose. Ian is panting heavily above him, and Mickey can feel the sweat slither between them. Ian’s thrusts get harder and deeper, more erratic, less rhythmic. Mickey squeezes his dick, jerking the sensitive head. He gasps and Ian groans and the hot rush of Ian’s orgasm pushes Mickey over the edge.

They collapse together, Ian’s weight warm on top of Mickey. He closes his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe. He thinks he’s mastered it when Ian pulls back, easing out and off of him. “Fuck,” Mickey says and turns his head to look at Ian. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Good. Thanks.”

There’s distance in the words, and Mickey’s chest goes tight. “You want me to go?”

“No. No. Of course not.” Ian turns on his side and traces Mickey’s shoulder. “Stay.”

“Yeah? You sure?”

“Of course.” Ian smiles and leans in, kissing the tip of Mickey’s nose. Mickey bats him away and Ian laughs. “You should get some sleep. Build your energy back up.”

“I should, huh? And what are you going to do? Pound some protein shakes?”

Ian’s brow furrows with a frown. “No. I have a date.”

“I’m sorry. A date? Is...you have a _date_?”

“A date.”

“A date.” Mickey’s embarrassed by how long it takes to click. “A...with Tom?”

Ian shakes his head, carefully not looking at Mickey. “Someone else.”

“Someone else. Of course.” Mickey nods and sits up, unable to keep from gasping at the glorious ache in his body. “How many someone elses are there, Ian?”

Ian shrugs and chews his thumbnail, gaze still averted. “A few.”

“What exactly is a few? Five? More than five?”

“Nine. Plus Tom. Ten.”

“Ten.” Mickey nods and reaches for his clothes. He dresses quickly, jerkily, tugging up his pants and zipping them. “So what would round two cost me?”

“What?” Ian actually looks at him, his expression confused. 

Mickey spits out a laugh. “First rule, Gallagher. Give ‘em a taste for free to get them hooked.” Mickey feels like the first time he got stabbed, like his insides were rearranging themselves around a blade, too much of him not able to get out of the way. “After that you start charging.”

“That’s not...” Ian’s jaw sets and his chin juts out defiantly. “500 a night.”

Mickey scoffs. “Guess I was right from the very beginning of all of this. I sure as fuck can’t afford having you in my life.”


	2. Chapter 2

His life is a fuck-lot easier without a Gallagher in it. He can focus on business, on making money, on figuring out what he’s supposed to do with a kid. He jerks himself off every night thinking of random fantasy guys that he’ll never meet, never see. Months without someone with with red hair or green eyes, no one with hands that cover Mickey’s, with a body that fits perfectly over his. 

He still goes to the north side club, but he only stays until right after it opens, letting all of the guys he’s made deals with know that if they want their drugs, they have to meet him early and pay up front. He’s gone before most of the patrons show up, definitely before Ian might make an appearance.

Which makes it completely un-fucking-fair when Mickey comes out of the Alibi and runs into Ian. Literally. 

Ian grabs Mickey’s upper arms to steady him. Mickey jerks back and out of Ian’s grip. He takes a step away from him and clears his throat.

“You slumming?”

Ian shakes his head. “Meeting Fiona.”

“Good for you.” Mickey goes to brush past him, but Ian grabs his wrist. Mickey yanks his hand away. “Get the fuck off.”

“We can’t even talk?”

“We don’t have anything to talk about.”

Ian lowers his voice. “I want to see you.”

“You’re seeing me right now. Don’t change much.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m not interested in being part of an even dozen or anything.”

Ian’s eyes narrow. “And how many men does your wife fuck a day?”

“Who gives a fuck?” Mickey snaps. “I don’t give a shit about _her_.” Mickey rubs his palm over his mouth and looks around to make sure no one is paying attention to them. “I gotta go.”

“Please.”

“Your sister’s probably waiting. See ya.” Mickey walks off, not looking back even though he can feel Ian’s eyes on him. He doesn’t have a destination in mind other than away, but he waits until he’s at the end of the block before he turns the corner and stops, breathing hard like he ran the entire distance.

He’s not sure where to go. Home means his father and brothers, and Mickey’s in no mood to deal with them. Everywhere else feels potentially dangerous, like all of his solitary places are ones Ian knows.

He has to move though, so he walks to the abandoned buildings, staying away from the floors he usually goes to. He looks out over the deserted wreckage and rubs his face with his hands. He should have stopped and gotten a bottle of something. Whatever buzz he’d gotten at the Alibi died with Ian’s appearance.

Mickey hears footsteps before he sees anything and curses under his breath. He almost hopes it’s some punk wanna-be badass looking for a fight, but instead it’s Ian, just like he knew it would be. Ian walks through the empty door and leans against it. He holds up a bottle of whiskey. 

“Peace offering?”

Mickey sighs. “I hope you’re not expecting me to share.”

Ian grins, wide and infections, and Mickey smacks his fist against his thigh to keep the urge to punch him in check. Ian walks over and holds the bottle out to Mickey. It’s still sealed and it’s good stuff. Mickey twists the cap and tosses it on the ground, listening to it plink against the concrete. He lifts the bottle to his lips, watching Ian as he drinks.

“I didn’t want you to get married.”

Mickey lowers the bottle and barks out a hard laugh. “That fucking makes two of us. Christ, I don’t even know if the fucking kid’s mine. I just know that I actually like to keep breathing and my old man wasn’t going to take no for an answer. To him, me saying no was basically asking him to beat the shit out of me again, and he probably wouldn’t have stopped. Better a dead son than a faggot son.”

“Being married doesn’t change what you are.”

“Being married was just a final fuck-you, Ian.” Mickey takes another drink and sighs. “Go back to your new life.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Survive.” Mikey takes another drink, longer this time, then finally passes the bottle to Ian. “That’s what we Milkovichs do. Like rats. Cockroaches.

Ian runs a thumb over the lip of the bottle, and Mickey can’t help watching. He doesn’t think it’s deliberate, but he doesn’t trust his judgment where Ian’s concerned. “You could run away.”

“Where’m I gonna go? Not like I’ve got people skills or marketable abilities to help make my way in the world.”

“Come stay with me.”

“No thanks.”

Ian frowns. “It could be platonic. A place away from your family.

Mickey stares at Ian and then laughs. “In what fucking universe are we platonic, Gallagher? You telling me that we’re going to share your tiny ass room and...what? Just be buddies? BFFs?”

“You could get a fresh start.”

Mickey takes the bottle back and stares at it for a long time before taking another drink. He hands it back and shakes his head. “I can’t do what you do, Ian. I can’t just be. You’re okay with who you are. Your family’s fucking carrying rainbow flags. That’s not my life.”

“It could be.”

Mickey’s brow furrows and he shakes his head again. Ian’s not stupid. Hopeful maybe, but not stupid. “No. No. It can’t.” He sighs. “Have a good life, Gallagher, okay? It was nice knowing you.”

“Bullshit.” Ian slams the bottle onto the ground and it shatters, glass splintering and whiskey spraying around them. “You can be whoever and whatever you want to be.” Mickey starts to walk off, but Ian grabs him, fingers digging into his arm. “Don’t fucking walk away from me!” 

Ian tugs Mickey close, his back to Ian’s chest, and wraps one arm around Mickey’s waist so there’s barely enough room between them to breath. His voice is rough, full of emotions that make Mickey’s chest hurt. “I tried it, Mick. Didn’t work. Spent the entire time thinking about you. Wanting you.”

“I missed you too.” Mickey has to tilt his head slightly to see Ian’s face. “But you didn’t come back for me.” He doesn’t recognize his voice, the softness in his tone, the bare emotion. “It’d be nice to believe, but it’s not true.”

Ian huffs in frustration. He looks like a kid who isn’t getting his way, which to be fair, is pretty much the case. “I’m here. Right now. With you.”

“Until your date tonight.”

“They don’t matter!”

“They do to me,” Mickey bites the words out, teeth coming together with an audible click. Ian’s eyes widen and he takes a step back. Mickey rubs his hands over his face, through his hair. “Shit.”

“It’s just sex.”

“It’s your dick in some other guy. It’s some asshole touching you. It’s someone other than me.”

“I fucked other people while we...you did too!

Mickey takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Svetlana. Once, like you know. A couple of guys while you were gone.”

“You fucked her in front of me!”

“Because I couldn’t watch you! I couldn’t see you looking at that, at _me_. I couldn’t even feel my fucking face, because watching you hurt more than anything else. I had to fuck her, Ian. I didn’t have to watch it hurt you.”

“But it did!”

“Yeah. No shit.” Mickey sniffs and shakes his head, laughing sadly. “Go back to your new life, Ian. Like I said, it was fun.”

Walking away is hard. Every part of Mickey is screaming to stay with Ian, go wherever Ian wants him. He closes his eyes for a moment then keeps walking, trying hard not to listen to hear if Ian calls his name.

**

Two days later Ian is waiting on the corner down from Mickey’s house holding two coffees. Mickey’s in sweats and a tank top, his socks holey and not much better than bare feet. He stands at the top of the stairs, looking at Ian and blowing smoke along with frosted breath.

Ian walks up to the fence. “I brought coffee.”

Mickey takes a drag from his cigarette and holds the smoke as he tries to figure out what to say. “Congrats.”

“Nothing fancy. Just drip.”

“I’ve got coffee inside.”

“I brought a cinnamon roll too.”

Mickey shivers from the cold and sticks his cigarette between his lips so he can rub his hands together. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Ian holds up the cups. “Coffee.”

“Fuck. Fine. Come in.” Mickey stalks back inside the house, not looking to see if Ian follows. His dad and brothers are out on a run and Svetlana’s at the rub and tug, starting someone’s day off right. 

Ian closes the door behind him with his foot and holds out one of the cups. “Still hot.”

Mickey takes a sip. It is hot, and richer than the canned crystals he used to make the pot in the kitchen. He holds out his hand and makes a grabbing motion. “Fork it over.”

Ian ducks his head, but Mickey can see his grin and the blush staining Ian’s cheeks. He eases his backpack off and unzips it, pulling out a slightly bent cardboard box. Mickey sets his coffee down to take it, and he can feel the heat through it. He flips open the lid and inhales the strong scent of cinnamon.

“You are such a pain in my ass.”

Ian laughs and follows Mickey over to the table. Mickey sits at the end of the table and Ian sits at the corner, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, closer than Mickey likes. Not likes. Not as close as he likes or wants. Too close for his peace of mind. “I frosted that myself, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah? Squeezing icing out of a thick bag is your thing?”

“Playing to my strengths.” Ian reaches out and sticks his finger in the glaze, laughing and pulling it back when Mickey swats him.

“Fuck off. This is mine.” Mickey licks across the top through the icing, glaring at Ian as he does.

“I’ve sucked your dick,” Ian reminds him. “You think that’s going to bother me?” He sticks his finger through the glaze and into the middle of the cinnamon roll. He pulls it out and sucks it clean. Mickey purses his lips as Ian pulls it free of his mouth with a wet pop.

Mickey picks up the cinnamon roll and rips off a huge chunk with his teeth, chewing with his mouth open until he can manage to get it all inside. Ian’s smirking, self satisfied. “I swear I spend half of my life wanting to punch your fucking face, Gallagher.”

“And the rest of it?”

Mickey ignores him and takes a drink of his coffee. “So are you here for a reason? I’ve got shit to do.”

“I brought you breakfast.”

“You came across fucking town to bring me breakfast.”

“You were hungry, right?”

Mickey licks his lips, tasting the vanilla glaze laced with cinnamon. He can’t help dropping his gaze down to Ian’s crotch, to the outline of his dick in his jeans. “Not really.”

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair then.” Ian stands up and snags a piece of the cinnamon roll on his way to the door. His grin is back. “Since you’re not really hungry.” He pops the bite into his mouth and licks his lips. Mickey follows him and slams the door shut behind him. 

He texts Kevin that he’s running late and goes into his room, locking the door behind him with one hand as he reaches for his dick with the other.

**

After that it seems like Gallagher’s everywhere. He’s coming out of the coffee shop on a break when Mickey’s finished dealing at the club. He shows up at the Alibi, supposedly on his way back home from visiting his family. Mickey does his best to avoid him, but he’s given up pretending it’s not Ian he jerks off thinking of. 

Ian doesn’t come back to Mickey’s house, and Mickey does his best to stay away from any place he and Ian ever met up. It’s like closing the barn door after the horses are gone, but Mickey pretends it’s actually doing something to put distance between them.

Three weeks go by of Ian dogging Mickey’s heels on the way from the club to the El, watching Ian’s throat as he drinks and walks. He doesn’t talk about anything really – ideas and thoughts, asking Mickey’s opinion like he’s the fucking Buddha. Mickey never answers, just keeps walking. Ian doesn’t stop. Mickey’s not sure what his breaking point is, but he finally can’t take anymore.

He turns around abruptly and grabs Ian’s coffee shop apron, shoving him backwards until they reach an alleyway. “Do you shut up?”

“I was beginning to think you’d gone deaf.”

“Maybe from all your fucking yammering.” Mickey lets go of Ian’s apron with a final shove, and Ian splays himself along the brick wall like a fucking porn shoot. “What the fuck do you want?” Mickey says the words slowly and carefully, hoping they penetrate Ian’s thick skull.

Ian is finally quiet and Mickey groans in frustration. The sound gets trapped between them as Ian surges forward and kisses Mickey, pushing them across the alley. 

It’s like an explosion. A firecracker. A gunshot. Mickey’s hand goes to Ian’s neck and holds him as Ian cups the back of Mickey’s head. Every time they break apart, there’s not enough oxygen, but they crowd back in before they even have time to breathe.

Ian pulls back and looks at Mickey for what feels like an eternity, but then his mouth finds Mickey’s neck, biting and sucking just above Mickey’s collar. Mickey’s head falls to the side and he gasps for air and Ian’s hands move down to cup Mickey’s ass. Mickey moans, low and rough, raking one hand down Ian’s spine. 

Ian sucks harder in response, bringing one hand between them to unbutton Mickey’s shirt.

“Fuck,” Mickey whispers, his voice strangled. Ian pushes the shirt of Mickey’s shoulder, bending his head to scrape his teeth over Mickey’s collarbone. “Fuck.”

Ian’s hand slides up Mickey’s ass then beneath his waistband, long fingers tugging at Mickey’s shirt until he finds skin. Mickey rises up onto his toes, grinding against Ian. Ian moans, the sound thick in his throat.

Mickey’s breath shudders out of him and he pushes Ian away as he steps back. Ian follows him, reaching for him again. Mickey shakes his head and takes another step away. He still can’t get enough air, and every inch of him aches with want and need.

Ian frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not interested.” 

Ian’s eyebrow shoots up and he laughs in disbelief. “Liar.”

“I’m not...I don’t want what you’re offering.”

Ian reaches out, his hand curving against Mickey’s dick, pressing firmly. “Bullshit.”

“You want me to be one of a collection. I’m not interested in that.”

“We’d be different. We _are_ different.” Ian crowds closer, his palm sliding up and down Mickey’s erection. “They’re just the rent check. Fiona’s mortgage payment.”

“They’re _fucking_ you.”

“But they don’t _matter_!”

It’s a physical hurt to step away from Ian’s touch. “I’m not going to argue with you about this, so stop, okay? Stop showing up, stop following me. Just stop.”

“You don’t want to stop. You don’t really want me to stop.”

Mickey exhales, rubbing his burning eyes. “Goodbye, Ian. For real.” Mickey walks away before he can give in, before Ian can say something to convince him. Ian doesn’t follow Mickey to the train, and Mickey takes the first one that comes, not caring where he’s going so long as it’s anywhere else.

**

Ian actually listens this time, because Mickey stops seeing him around. As much as it’s a relief, a small, traitorous part of Mickey wishes that Ian was still everywhere he looked. The house is quiet all the time now, since Svetlana hauls the kid out with her like she’s an actual suburban mom instead of a whore with a mistake in a stroller, so Mickey has it quiet. Alone.

Mandy comes into his bedroom and sits on the edge of his bed, stealing a cigarette from the pack on his nightstand. “You need to get laid.”

“You need to fuck off.”

“You’re being an asshole to everyone.”

“I’m not running for fucking Miss Congeniality. I _am_ an asshole.”

She’s quiet, smoking for a bit. “I saw Ian yesterday.”

“So?”

“He looks really good.”

“Again, so?”

“He misses you.”

“No reason for him to miss me. He fucked off. Good riddance.”

“I’m not stupid, Mickey. I know what you guys were.”

Mickey’s whole body tenses and he glares at Mandy. “You know fuck-all.”

“I don’t care that Ian’s gay. Why would I care if you...” She breaks off when Mickey grabs a fistful of her hair and jerks her closer, his face in hers, his voice razor sharp.

“Shut the fuck up. You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about. You know jack shit.”

“He said he loves you. At the wedding reception.”

“Well, he’s a bigger fucking idiot than I thought. Ian Gallagher no longer exists as far as I’m concerned. Got it?”

“Yeah.” Mandy digs her nails into Mickey’s arm until he releases her hair. “People don’t wait forever.”

“Nobody’s asking him to.”

Mandy nods. “I’m going to work.” She digs a piece of paper out of the pocket of her uniform, dropping it on the bed before walking to the door. “Don’t be stupid. I know it’s a family trait, but maybe you can prove it’s not genetic.”

Mickey flips her off and waits for the front door to close before he picks up the paper. He recognizes Ian’s handwriting and crumples it up, tossing it across the room. He leaves the bedroom and prowls around the house then flips through channels. Nothing appeals, so he starts a video game, but he’s too busy looking back toward the bedroom to pay attention so he dies almost instantly.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck you, Mandy,” he calls out as he stomps to the bedroom again. He kicks the door shut and snags the paper off the floor. He digs his phone out and calls the number, hanging up after the first ring. “Fuck. Goddamn fucking _fuck_.”

Mickey dials again, chewing his thumbnail through three rings. He’s just about to hang up when Ian answers. “Yeah. Hello. Mickey?”

“I’m only calling so Mandy will get off my ass.” Ian laughs and it’s breathless, a sound that goes straight to Mickey’s dick. “I interrupt something?”

“No. No. Not at all. How are you?”

“Peachy-fucking-keen. When you talk to Mandy tell her I called you, okay?”

“Don’t hang up. Please?” There’s something in Ian’s voice, the same tone he had when he threatened Mickey the first time. Bravado. Fear. Ian’s only a year or two younger than Mickey, but Gallagher years are a hell of a lot different than Milkovich years.

“I mostly use the phone to threaten people. Makes for short conversation.”

“We don’t need to talk. Just. I don’t know. Don’t hang up.”

Mickey nods even though Ian can’t see him. He kicks his shoes off and stretches out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “You know just listening to me breathe is kind of creepy.”

“So tell me something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. What are you doing these days? I know you’re dealing at the club. What else?”

“Shit. Well.” Mickey sighs. “Svetlana popped the kid out and gave him some stupid Russian name.”

“Yeah?” Ian’s voice is soft and Mickey almost regrets bringing it up, but he knows that kids are Ian’s weak spot. “Is he cute? Does he look like you?”

“Fuck no. He looks like a pissed-off old man. Always crying and smelling like shit and vomit.”

“Aw, so he takes after your old man.”

Mickey chokes on a laugh as Ian giggles. “Crib’s like a cell, so he’s getting used to his likely housing situation early.”

“Does he sleep through the night?”

“No, but he gets to suck on tits if he wakes up. Guess he’s not a fag, huh?”

“He’s got time.”

Mickey laughs and then sighs. “I wasn’t going to call.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Mickey intends for that to be the end of the conversation, but his mouth doesn’t listen to his brain. “Where’d you run into Mandy?”

“Lip and I went out for waffles.”

“Bet that was a fun reunion.”

“It was good to see her. I’ve missed her. We’re going out this weekend. Lunch. Movie.”

“Does her maniac gorilla know that?”

“She says he knows I’m gay, so he doesn’t care.” Ian sounds dubious. “What’s with this guy?”

“Controlling abusive asshole. From Dad to your brother to Kenyatta. Not sure if she’s going from bad to worse or the other way around.”

“I’m going to classify your dad as the worst.”

“Part of his charm.” Mickey touches the scar on his forehead. “So I’m a pimp. Well, Kevin and I are. I provide the girls, he provides the office space.”

“Family business, huh? The family that jerks off together and all that?”

“Trust me, no one in this family jerks off together.” Mickey sighs and rests his hand on his stomach. “You still at the coffee shop and grocery store?”

“Yeah. Constantly wired and discounted food. I’m living the dream.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

It’s Ian’s turn to sigh. “C’mon.”

“Why do you work both of those jobs when they’re not how you make your money?”

“I’d go out of my mind if I just sat around. Besides, there’s no such thing as extra money. There are always bills, expenses.”

“I guess.”

“I don’t work tonight. At all. Any of my jobs.”

“So, what’s on your agenda then?”

“I didn’t really have one until you called.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. But now I’ve got a few ideas.”

“That so?” Mickey’s voice drops in reaction to the promise in Ian’s. He should hang up, but apparently he’s a fucking junkie, and Ian is his fix. “What ideas?”

“Well, they mostly involve you being here. And what I’d do to you.”

Mickey exhales slowly, trying to keep his breathing even. “What would you do if I were there?”

“Press you back against the door. Pull out your shirt. Unbutton it.”

“Is that so?”

“Push it off your shoulders. Trace the hickey on your throat. Is it still there?”

“Faded.” It’s mostly gone, but Mickey still feels it like a brand. “Can barely see it anymore.” He presses it every night, desperate to keep the bruise from disappearing.

“I could fix that.”

Mickey takes an unsteady breath. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Tilt your head to the side. Use my tongue to find the right spot. Do it again. Bit you, suck you until I can taste the blood beneath your skin.”

“Fuck,” Mickey gasps.

“With your shirt off I have lots of skin to taste. Leave bruises and bite marks all over you. Know you’re sensitive in places. Maybe I should bend down a little. See what happens if I take your nipple in my mouth. Suck on that.”

“Jesus Christ, Ian.” Mickey balls his hand into a fist, clenching his shirt.

“I remember the sound you make, Mickey. Remember the way you arch into me when I scrape it with my teeth. You remember that?”

“Yes. Fuck.”

“Had to keep doing it. The sound got me so hard. And, fuck, you wanted it. Had to pin you down to keep you still.

Mickey sits up enough to jerk his shirt over his head before collapsing back on the bed. He smoothes his hand over his stomach and up his sternum before brushing his nipple with the rough tip of his fingers.

“Oh,” Ian moans. “That’s the sound. Doesn’t feel as good though, does it? Not as good as my mouth.”

Mickey whimpers and pinches his nipple. He makes another noise and Ian moans at the sound. 

“My hands wouldn’t be busy if my mouth was on you. I’d have to figure out what to do. Have to touch you. Take my time. Avoid all those ticklish spots and just stroke your skin. Leave goosebumps behind as I brush my fingers down the hair on your stomach, trace right above your jeans. Kneel down. Kiss you there. Replace my fingers with my tongue.

Mickey slides his hand back down, following the path Ian’s describing. His jeans are too tight, but he doesn’t touch them, doesn’t touch himself.

“Bite you just below your navel. Mostly muscle, but it’s soft there, isn’t it. Sink my teeth into you.”

Mickey swallows hard. He knows he’s making noises, but he can’t hear himself over the rumble of Ian’s voice and the sound of his blood pounding through his veins. The low groans and growls that punctuate Ian’s words let Mickey know that Ian can hear him, though.

“Undo your belt. Unbutton your jeans. Slide your zipper down. You’d be so hard for me, wouldn’t you? Aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Mickey forces the word out, struggling to get out of his jeans one-handed so he can still hold the phone. “Fuck. So hard.”

“You wearing anything underneath, Mick?” Ian chuckles and it’s like a flash fire through Mickey’s blood. “No. You wouldn’t be. Wouldn’t want something else between us. One less thing to keep me from touching you.”

Mickey’s whole body shivers. “Please.”

“Can’t help it. Have to touch you. But not your dick. Not yet.”

Mickey gasps roughly, a kind of desperate laugh. “ _Please_.” He’s got his own hand wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing firmly to try to stay in control.

“Have to see if my teeth scrape over your hips like they do your collarbone. Rub your thighs as I suck hickeys on your hips.” Mickey groans and Ian laughs, the sound strangled. “Touching yourself, Mick?”

“N-not yet, you fucker.”

“Not going to touch your dick.”

Mickey lets out a frustrated sound. “Ian.”

“I’ll turn you around. Make you face the door.”

“Gonna fuck me?” Mickey squeezes himself again.

“Rub my hands over your ass. Spread it.” There’s a hitch in Ian’s breath, and Mickey can imagine him sprawled on his mattress on the floor, long fingers on his own dick. “What will you do, Mickey? Are you going to come when I lick your ass? Press my tongue against you?”

“Jesus fuck.” Mickey’s hips thrust up and he keeps his fist clenched almost painfully tight.

“Lick all around it. All over it. Get you wet and slick before I push my tongue in. Thumbs digging into your ass as I fuck and lick inside you.”

Mickey can’t help whimpering. Even with pressure his dick is leaking, the head slick and drops of pre-come dripping onto his hand.

“What are you going to do, Mick? Are you going to jerk off? You going to come? Or are you going to wait. Wait while I tongue-fuck you. Can you hold on for me?”

“Y-yeah. Yes. An../fuck, anything, Ian.”

Ian growls softly and there’s a hitch in the sound that gives away how turned on he is. “Add my fingers. Spread you open so I can fuck you deeper.”

Mickey curses under his breath and gives in, unable to keep from groaning in relief as he strokes his hand over his hot, aching dick. 

“You like me on my knees for you?”

“Like you in me.” Mickey hadn’t bottomed until Ian. Fantasized about it. Finger-fucked himself imagining it. He would have beaten the shit out of anyone else who tried it, but he hadn’t even thought to fight Ian. “Like you fucking me.”

“That’s what you want.”

“God, fucking cock tease. You _know_ what I want.”

“Tell me.”

Mickey sucks in a breath as his palm slides over the head of his dick. Ian’s voice is shaking, his fast breathing matching Mickey’s. “You asshole. I want _you_.”

Neither of them say anything else, both panting roughly as they jerk themselves off. Every gasp of Ian’s breath pushes Mickey closer until he can’t stop. His hips rock off the bed, dick tight in his fist, moaning Ian’s name as he comes.

Ian gasps and then goes silent and for a long time there’s no sound beyond their breathing as it slowly evens out. Finally Ian sighs. “I’m glad you called.”

Mickey laughs and almost hangs up on him. “You’re a dick.”

“Come over.”

Mickey doesn’t say anything for a long minute, shaking his head even though he’s alone. He stays quiet and hangs up instead.

**

Mickey jerks awake when Mandy’s hat lands on him, and he comes face to face with a fucking squirrel. He’s just got his sheet pulled over him, so he grabs that when he scrambles up the bed to sit up, feeling around for his gun with his free hand. “Jesus _fuck_.”

“What the fuck did you do to Ian?”

“I didn’t do fucking anything.” He arranges the sheet to make sure he’s covered, batting the fucking hat across the room. “And keep that fucking thing away from me.”

“You like him.”

“If you don’t keep that yap of yours shut...”

“And he likes you. A lot. Just go see him.”

Mickey flops back on the bed with a sigh and stares at the ceiling like the answers might be there. “Pops caught us. Walked in on us. In the...middle of things.” He doesn’t look at her, can’t actually trust himself if he sees her reaction, if it’s the mixture of horror and fury that his dad’s had been.

“Shit, Mickey.”

“Held Ian at gunpoint and made him watch Svetlana fuck me. Fuck the fag out of me.” He laughs bitterly. “I knocked her up because why wouldn’t that fucking happen? Got married. So long, Gallagher.”

“That’s fucked up. Like even more than normal fucked up.”

It’s surprisingly easy to keep talking. “I got to him, walk away from this, Dad’s going to kill me. Probably kill Ian too. And what good does it do to have him locked up for life if I’m not around to enjoy it?”

“But...”

“Plus Ian’s screwing guys for money.”

But...he’s _what_?”

“Ten of them. Different nights. Five hundred a pop. He’s high-end ass.”

“Shit.” She shakes her head. “You think I could make that much?”

“No.”

“You could have at least acted like you were thinking about it, assface.” Mandy lies down next to him. “It’s not like he likes them, right?”

“He left town because I got married.”

“Marriage is different.”

“Yeah. I’m not fucking my wife.”

“You guys have both fucked other people, right? I mean... _have_ you fucked other guys?”

“Okay, we’re done fucking talking about this.” Mickey reaches up and grabs his pillow, pulling it over his head, wondering if suffocation is an option.

“I can’t believe you were screwing my boyfriend.”

“He wasn’t your boyfriend. You were his beard.”

“He totally treated me like a girlfriend. We just didn’t make out or anything. Apparently he was busy doing that with you. This is like a soap opera.”

“We didn’t make out. We’re not fucking girls. And you were screwing _his_ brother.”

“We should be on Jerry Springer.”

“Yeah, because telling the whole world I like dick is what I want to do?”

“What if you both had sex with the guys? Shit, if you weren’t my brother that would be all kinds of hot. I bet we could film it. There’s money in porn.”

“Will you please just shut up?”

“Go see him.”

“Why?”

Mandy pulls the pillow off of Mickey’s face and looks down at him. “Because you’re in love with him. And you’re miserable without him. And so I’m suffering.”

“Fuck off.” He reaches for the pillow again, but she holds it out of his reach.

“Do it or I will make your life a living hell.”

“You already do.”

Mandy sighs and smacks the pillow across his face. “We’ve got fuck-all in our lives to be happy about. He makes you happy. You really want to let this go? So what if he fucks other guys if he comes home to you.”

“You ran over Lip’s girlfriend with a fucking car.”

“He thought he was in love with her. Ian’s in love with you.”

Mickey doesn’t look at her. “You’ve been watching too many chick flicks.”

“Pussy.”

“Bitch.”

“And proud of it. Good luck finding another guy like Ian around here.” She gets off the bed, smacking him with the pillow again.

“You are such a cunt.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere.” She stops at the door and looks back at him. “Go. I’ll watch the kid tonight. I won’t even charge you.”

Mickey looks at her for a long time, trying to figure out if there’s a catch. Mandy sighs in exasperation.

“I love Ian and I want him to be happy. I don’t hate you, so I’m okay that you make him happy. So go before I change my mind.”

“I can’t get up until you fuck off.”

“Like I haven’t seen your scrawny ass before.” Mandy rolls her eyes. “Who the fuck knows what Ian sees in it.”

Mickey flips her off and waits until the door is shut before he gets off the bed. He tells himself to stop being such a fucking girl, but he still showers and dresses in a dark blue shirt that some sales girl told him brought out the color of his eyes. He told her he wasn’t some sort of fucking fairy who gave a shit about that, but he waited until she was off shift to steal it, just so she wouldn’t get blamed.

Mandy raises her eyebrow when he comes out of the bedroom, letting out a wolf whistle. “You sure he’s going to recognize you?”

“Fuck off.” He grabs his jacket. “You ever breathe a word of this, you’re fucking dead.”

“Yeah, yeah. Have fun with your boyfriend.”

“Dead.” 

She’s laughing as he shuts the door. Mickey leans against it and takes a deep breath before heading down the stairs. He has no clue what he’s doing. Of course, that’s been the case from the start where Ian’s concerned.

**

Ian opens the door and freezes. Mickey brushes past him to go inside, talking before Ian has a chance. “So what? You don’t get to have your way with me, so you go fucking crying to my sister?”

Ian manages to close his mouth and swallow before he actually speaks. “It seems to have worked.”

“Yeah, well, apparently I’m a sucker when a girl starts crying.”

“You strike me as the type.” Ian shuts the door and locks it. He puts his hands behind his back and leans back. “So.”

“So.”

Ian nods. “So.”

Mickey laughs and shakes his head. “What are we doing?”

Ian speaks hesitantly. “What do you want to do?”

“You know what I want to do. That doesn’t really solve the situation though.”

“I’ll cut back. Weed out a few of the guys.”

“I’m still going to have a problem with it.” He walks to Ian and hooks his fingers in Ian’s belt loops, tugging him close. “A big problem. I didn’t like Kash fucking you. Didn’t like the doctor fucking you. I don’t like anyone fucking you but me.”

“Technically...”

“Gallagher.”

“They don’t mean anything. It’s just a paycheck. Under the table.” He rocks his hips free and moves his hands, letting them settle on Mickey’s waist. “I’m careful.”

“I’m not supporting you if you get knocked up. Been there, done that.”

“I get free doughnuts at the grocery store.”

“Are you literally trying to sweeten the deal?”

Ian tugs lightly, pulling Mickey closer. “Walking away from you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Yeah?” Mickey’s voice is soft and he keeps his eyes locked on Ian’s. “You ever do it again I’m going to hunt you down, kick your ass, and then I’m going to be really pissed.”

“So we’re going to do this?”

Mickey exhales slowly. “I want...I want to be with you. I don’t want to hear about them, know about them. If I ever meet one of them, he’ll be swallowing his teeth and tasting his fucking balls.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to be jealous as fuck. Mad about it.”

“Just don’t walk out.”

“I have to help watch the kid.”

“Bring him here.” 

Mickey scrapes his top lip with his bottom teeth. “You fall in love with one of them, he’s a dead man.”

“Not going to happen.”

“You come home every night. To me.”

“To you.” Ian grins and tilts Mickey’s head to kiss him. Mickey puts his hand up between them, blocking it. 

“My sister is to know _nothing_ about our sex life.”

“But...”

“Deal breaker.”

Ian moves Mickey’s hand out of the way and closes the distance between them, kissing Mickey slowly. Mickey’s head is screaming at him that this is all going to go up in flames, but the rest of him doesn’t seem to be listening. The rest of him is too busy feeling Ian, wanting him.

Ian finally breaks the kiss and slowly traces Mickey’s bottom lip. “Okay. Our sex life is on a need to know basis.”

“And no one needs to know.” He bites the tip of Ian’s finger lightly.

“We should seal the deal somehow. Contract or something. Something official.”

Mickey looks over his shoulder at the bed. “Or we could just fuck.”

Ian turns them around and backs toward the bed. “You know, Milkovich, I like the way you think.”

**

Mickey pushes his pillow against the wall and leans back on it, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply. Ian glances up at him and then moves so his head is against Mickey’s chest. Mickey runs his fingers through Ian’s short hair without even thinking about it, moving on instinct. He can feel Ian smile against his chest. 

“That’s nice.”

“Mmm. Must be the big spoon.”

“No,” Ian laughs. “You’re most definitely not the big spoon. And how do you even know about spoons?” He looks up at Mickey curiously and Mickey just leans down and kisses him. “You’ve been watching movies with Mandy.”

“The baby likes Lifetime movies. They keep him quiet.”

“Do you cry when you watch them? Or is that just the Hallmark channel ones?”

Mickey jabs Ian with his finger, smiling when Ian laughs. “Fucker.”

Ian’s quiet after that, breathing in unison with Mickey. Mickey keeps stroking Ian’s hair, closing his eyes and relaxing for what feels like the first time in forever, the first time since Ian left. Ian tilts his head up and opens his eyes slowly. “I know it’s not going to be easy, but you and me? We’re going to make this work.”

“Of course we are.” Mickey kisses Ian’s forehead. “Because the only thing more stubborn than a Milkovich is a Gallagher.”

“And together we’re unstoppable, right?”

Mickey stubs out his cigarette and shifts back down onto the bed. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ian turns on his side and pulls Mickey close, fitting his body around Mickey’s easily. “I love you too.”


End file.
